


Jumping The Sharks

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [7]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Bromance, California, Fluff, Gen, Hockey, Humor, Light-Hearted, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, NHL, National Hockey League, Raptors, San Jose Sharks, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the San Jose Sharks need a little what-fer, and Andor Ronningen is more than willing to dish it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumping The Sharks

**Author's Note:**

> Davy Brandon is not real, but the San Jose Sharks are and the author has nothing against them :).

Mikey Palmer was 31 years old and had been playing professional hockey for 12 years. In that time he'd learned that while the game itself was draining, the travel could be even worse. Late flights coupled with arrivals in the dead of night would throw off anyone's sleep schedule.

But in the East there were at least no time zone changes except to go to Winnipeg (which was in the East, and the Southeast Division to boot, for reasons nobody understood). In fact, except for the aforementioned trips to Winnipeg, Eastern Conference teams rarely left the coast. Flights might be numerous, but they were fairly short especially from DC which was located at the center of the conference.

In the West, however, teams were much more spread out. Very few were even within driving distance of each other and many weren't even in the “West” at all. Sometimes Mikey thought the league should just rename the two conferences: The “Atlantic Seaboard Plus Winnipeg” Conference and the “Everyone Else” Conference.

This was just one of many reasons why Mikey would never have a job at the NHL headquarters in Toronto.

The uncomfortable pressure in his ears pulled Mikey out of a brief nap. _Must be starting our initial descent._ He sat up and glanced out the window. Sure enough, there was California sleeping 30,000 feet below him. _Lucky bums._

“ _Baby, baby, baby, oh...Like, baby, baby, baby, no…Like, baby, baby, baby, oh…I thought you’d always be mine…”_

Mikey’s eyes slid sideways to the muffled sound coming from his seatmate's earphones.

_He really needs some earbuds._ _I think he got those things on a JetBlue flight for $2._ “Bulk,” he said slowly. “What are you listening to?”

Stanislav Cibulka slid one earphone off his ear. “Huh?”

Mikey grabbed one of the headphones and listened for a moment. “Are you listening to Justin Bieber?”

“No.” Stan took the headphone back. “I’m listening to the _Glee_ version of a Justin Bieber song.” He hit pause on his iPod.

_That’s even worse._ “You watch _Glee_?!” Mikey exclaimed.

“Yes,” Stan said, seemingly oblivious to his teammate’s disgust. “I’m a…Gleek.”

The decidedly American term sounded downright comical in Stan’s heavy Czech accent. “You watch _Glee._ ” Mikey repeated.

“Amy told me it would help me understand American culture,” Stan explained, referring to his wife.

“Believe me, there are parts of American culture you’re better off not understanding,” Mikey said. “Amy’s Canadian, anyway.”

“So are you,” Stan pointed out. “What is so bad about _Glee_?”

“It’s stupid, that’s what!”

“Just because you don’t like it doesn’t make it stupid.”

“What are you, a hockey player or a philosopher?”

“I like _Glee_ ,” Stan said stubbornly.

“Bulk, do me a favor,” Mikey nearly groaned.

“What?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Don’t talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?”

“Just…don’t. Until we’re on the ground, don’t talk to me.”

“Mikey—”

“Zip it.” Mikey turned to face the window.

“You’re a—a—” As usual, Stan seemed to be fumbling for the right word.

Mikey heard his teammate's laptop flip open and looked over his shoulder. “Are you looking up an insult?”

“Translating.” Stanislav spoke Czech, Slovak, and Russian fluently. French and English, not so much. Sometimes he reminded Mikey a little of Ziva from _NCIS._ “Idiot! That’s it. You’re an idiot.”

Mikey narrowed his eyes at the stocky Czech. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“For someone who’s not talking to me, you’re talking to me a lot,” Stan observed.

“Quiet,” Mikey ordered.

“You don’t want to know how to call someone an idiot in Czech?”

“No!”

“Will you two shut up? I'm trying to sleep,” Sandy Garneau grumbled from behind the warring duo.

Mikey and Stanislav obeyed.

.

.

.

Every champion NHL team experienced the Stanley Cup hangover—a period for the first few weeks of the season where they struggled. The short offseason, every team gunning for the winner, and trying to switch gears from celebrating to working all contributed. Some teams bounced back. Others didn't.

But a lot of people overlooked the team that lost the Stanley Cup. They were beat up and found their offseason truncated too. They just didn't get to have the fun beforehand.

William LaJeunesse's Raptors looked quite hung over at the moment. San Jose had owned the show at the the HP Pavilion thus far, holding a 3-0 lead as the second period wound to a close. If Sandy Garneau weren't having a good night, the Sharks would have put the game well out of reach by now.

LaJeunesse crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the ice with a studious, disapproving glare. He was already preparing a dressing room speech for intermission.

_Don't go too hard on them; it's just the second game,_ the coach reminded himself. He'd always tended to drop the hammer a little too quickly. Chewing out his team when they still had 80 more games to play didn't seem like a great idea.

“Hey Seattle, are those golf clubs you're holding?”

LaJeunesse redirected his glare to the opposing bench. One of the Sharks had decided now would be a good time to start mouthing off.

_Maybe it's not my boys who need a talking-to._

.

.

.

Andor Ronningen chased the puck back into the Raptors' zone following San Jose's clearing attempt, backed up, and sent the puck across the ice to Hank. _How much longer?_ The Norwegian looked at the clock. _15 seconds._ He hustled forward into the neutral zone.

“Hey, you guys didn't even win! You're not supposed to be look this bad!”

Andor clenched his jaw. The Sharks' Davy Brandon was well known for his mouth, and Andor was in no mood for it at the moment. He took his place on the right point opposite Hank even though the clock was about to run out.

“Maybe if you sent a goalie instead of a carboard cutout--”

_That's it._ Andor spun around and marched (such as he could on skates) to San Jose's bench as the siren signaled the end of the period. “Listen to me.” He pointed the end of his stick at Brandon's nose. “You will stop harassing my team. _Right now.”_

.

.

.

“Looks like Andor Ronningen's got some words for the Sharks over there,” Jake Wheeler said from the booth. All he and Obenshain and the television audience could see was Ronningen's back.

.

.

.

“Or what, pops?” Brandon snorted.

“I will pull you over these boards,” Andor said calmly, “and I will beat you in front of God and everyone.”

All the Sharks' jaws dropped at such strong words from the NHL's gentle giant.

“I realize you think I'm old and decrepit,” Andor went on, “and I'll let you continue in that foolish line of thinking if you promise to not utter one word at my team for the duration of this game.”

“I'd do what he says, man,” another Shark said to Brandon, not taking his eyes off Andor.

“Do you get me, son?” Andor asked after a few moments of silence.

Every Shark on the bench, even those who hadn't been in on the heckling, nodded vigorously.

Andor smiled and took his stick back. “Good.”

.

.

.

“What was that all about?” Hank Sheridan asked as his defense partner entered the tunnel.

“Brandon was running his mouth,” Andor explained. “I said that if he didn't stop, I'd pull him over the boards and beat him in front of God and everyone.”

Hank laughed and removed his helmet. “Would you really have beaten him?”

“Of course.”

.

.

.

The Sharks seemed sufficiently cowed by the threat of an Andor Ronningen beatdown. They not only did not utter a word at the Raptors, they barely put any pucks at Sandy. The Raptors retaliated by scoring four goals in six minutes and winning the game.

_We sure got lucky_ , LaJeunesse thought. The Raptors' play through 40 minutes had left plenty to be desired, but they'd capitalized on their opponents' mistakes plenty in the final 20 and that was as big a part of winning as anything.

_Next stop Anaheim, and then the home opener._ LaJeunesse waited until the final Raptor had entered the tunnel and then followed his team to the dressing room.


End file.
